In the Name Of
by Laces Kai
Summary: A holiday story centered around Christmas Eve, Jack Kelly & Spot Conlon honor their pasts at midnight mass every year. The Irish Catholic Traditions help the boys discover themselves, the spirit of Christmas and the true meaning of family. Holiday Contest
1. Prologue

**In the Name Of **

_**By Laces **_

Prologue

**December 24, 1889**

_F__rancis Sullivan fidgeted in trying to sneak a glance down the pew at his friend. The air hung heavy with incense and frost and the candles and congregation did little to keep out the bitter cold of the New York winter. Francis slithered down and poked his head out looking down the row; five adults separated him and his friend Patrick Conlon. A strong hand grabbed Francis shoulder and pulled him harshly back into his seat. _

_"Sit still." His father hissed at him and Francis didn't have to look up to see the disapproval. The six-year-old managed to sit still for five minutes until a united Amen echoed off the church stonewalls. The congregation stood in unison, as the priest started his procession down the church. Francis used the moment to sneak a peek around to find his friend again but the mess of blond hair had disappeared. Frowning his young brown eyes scanned the church, only barely seeing over the pews. _

_A pudgy pale hand grabbed Francis' ankle and within seconds the two boys were crowding underneath the wooden pews as the adults shuffled out of the church. Crouched against the stone floor Patrick grinned at his friend. The boys had meet the previous year, when their fathers had both been laid off from their factory jobs the boys had been sent to stay at the St. Mary's Orphanage. As was the practice of many of the good hard-working Irish Catholic families of the city, when they couldn't care for their children they left them with the church. But troubled times had subdued and both boys were back with their parents for the time being. _

_"Sister Cecilia might have candy," Patrick pointed towards a pair of faded shoes that he recognized as the youngest nun working for the parish. _

_"She'll get mad that we're hiding from our folks." Francis warned. Suddenly the Sister Cecilia's honey-colored eyes were starring right at the two little boys. The young nun was on her knees searching the enclaves of the pews frantically. _

_"Francis, Patrick what are you doing down there?" She demanded of two young wards she was well familiar with. _

_"Talking." Patrick shrugged his baby shoulders slightly. Francis nodded in agreement and Sister Cecilia tried not to laugh at their honesty. _

_"Come out from under there." She waved them towards her. _

_"Were you looking for us?" Francis asked as he crawled out and stood up to lean his small body against the pew. _

_"No," Sister Cecilia remained on her knees scanning underneath the next pew. _

_"What are you looking for?" Patrick demanded crossing his little arms. _

_"A little girl that seems to like to run away too, naughty children don't get visits from Santa Claus." Sister Cecilia said loudly, her threat amplified in the empty church. _

_"Santa Claus doesn't visit the poor anyway Sister." Francis sighed as his sad brown eyes scanned around looking for a girl. Underneath the table of flickering candles, curled up, sucking her thumb and fast asleep laid a toddler. Francis pushed Patrick as he trotted over to the sleeping babe. _

_"Of course he does Francis, maybe if you behaved a little nicer you would get visits from old St. Nick." Sister Cecilia lectured as she silently prayed that her current ward hadn't wandered off into the snowy night. Meanwhile Francis and Patrick were crouching down over the sleeping girl, Francis poked her first. _

_"Santa Claus?" The little girl cooed in her sleep. Her face was barely visible underneath the starched bonnet and behind her pudgy baby hand. _

_"Nope, I'm Francis Sullivan." Francis giggled. _

_"He ain't no Santa Claus." Patrick frowned. Sister Cecilia stood up hearing the boys' laughter. She spotted the children in the corner of the church in seconds, hurrying towards them. She didn't want any of her sisters to notice she had not come out of the sanctuary. Sister Cecilia pushed the boys out of her way and scooped down to pick up the baby girl. _

_"I thought you weren't suppose to sleep in church." Patrick commented, yawning. _

_"Yeah, but she's a baby stupid." Francis shoved Patrick. _

_"Francis don't call people stupid." Sister Cecilia chastised as she held out her hand to Patrick. _

_"Where are her parents?" Francis asked. _

_"They died. She's an orphan." Sister Cecilia struggled with the sleeping toddler for a second as Patrick slipped his little fingers around her thumb. _

_"What's her name?" Patrick asked curiously. _

_"Shandley. It's her birthday today." Sister Cecilia smiled down at the boys as they stepped out into the cold of the winter night. _

_"She's got the same birthday as Jesus?" Francis' eyes bugged open. Sister Cecilia nodded carelessly as she scanned the crowd of parishioners looking for the boys' families. Mr. Sullivan had found them first though and his rough hand snatched the back of Francis hair violently. _

_"This rascal being troublesome Sister?" The older Sullivan demanded as Francis squealed in pain. _

_"No, sir." Sister Cecilia stuttered nervously. She had always been slightly frightened of Mr. Sullivan and hated how rough he was with his poor son. _

_"Running off like that worrying your poor sick mother," Mr. Sullivan shook Francis a second before pushing him towards a fragile looking woman that had appeared next to him. Francis buried himself into his mother's skirts, trying to hide his tears. Sister Cecilia was trying desperately to hold Shandley in her arms and keep Patrick from curl up to sleep on the snow-covered dirt. Patrick was slumping over, asleep standing up when his father scooped him up into his arms. _

_"Merry Christmas Sister," Mrs. Conlon smiled brightly at the young nun. Sister Cecilia nodded politely but her attention was focused on Francis, still hiding behind his mother as Mr. Sullivan spoke to Mr. Conlon. Sister Cecilia moved towards the little boy, nodding politely at his mother before bending down towards him. _

_"Try to be a good boy," Sister Cecilia whispered as she slipped a piece of toffee into the little boy's coat. Shandley stirred awake and turned her head to look straight at Francis with her bright evergreen eyes. _

_"Santa Claus?" She asked in a yawn. Francis shook his head, his hurt tears still making his brown eyes glimmer in the light from the church. _

_"He doesn't come to the poor kid, sorry." But Shandley juts blinked at him. _


	2. The Father

_**The Father…. **_

**December 24****th****, 1897 **

It was the first time in his entire life that Francis Sullivan was missing midnight Christmas Eve mass at St. Mary's. The young man sat at the window staring longingly out at the snowy night. Francis hadn't been to St. Mary's much since his mother had died, but he always managed to go on Christmas Eve. It was a tradition based in his Irish Catholic upbringing, in his desire to uphold the memory of his mother, and in his unspoken ties to the church and its parishioners, particularly three of them. He leaned his head against the cold windowpane, his hair sticking to the frost and his breathing fogging up any view of the night he might have. He closed his eyes bringing forth memories of his church, he watched in his mind as Father O'Reilly walked up to the alter. His memories guided his eyes to his right in the usual pew where Patrick Conlon would be sitting next to him.

The two boys still attended this mass together, even though the rest of their families had since stopped. Mrs. Sullivan had died on Christmas Day in 1895, the same year as Mrs. Conlon both from the influenza that had hit the Irish community hard. Patrick's father had moved out of the city in 1896 to follow work and left his son in the care of the Sisters of St. Mary's Church until his safe return. While Mr. Sullivan had become violent after his wife's death and gotten sent to jail for a brawl just months before today. Instead of seeking asylum with the nuns of his youth though Francis had tried to survive on his own. The attempt had failed, miserably, as the young man now found himself trapped in a wretched house of refugee for young state wards. He had been caught stealing food and been sentenced to being reformed until his 18th birthday. At least Patrick had gotten away; his oldest friend had been with him that ill-fated day.

Francis had tried to convince the warden, Snyder to let him attend the Christmas mass at his old parish with little luck. The warden didn't believe in encouraging the ideals of the Irish much less the Catholic Irish. So Francis found himself starring out in the darkness of the night whispering Hail Mary and Our Father as Sister Cecilia taught him many years ago. He fell asleep sitting there in the dark straining to hear the bells of the old church.

Inside the walls of the church Patrick Conlon was hiding in the back pew. The thirteen-year-old boy was trying hard to blend into the familiar surroundings without being noticed. He had run away three months earlier from the Sisters of St. Mary's Orphanage. The day that Francis had been picked up by the police for stealing, Patrick hadn't returned to the protective shelter of the sisters. Instead he had made his way to the farther side of Brooklyn away from the Irish nook that his family had established themselves in. Patrick had changed his first name and having stretched out and lost his baby face effectively had gained a new identity. Spot Conlon was now just a Brooklyn newsie with a troubled past he never spoke about.

As the congregation hummed their community Amen ushering in the new Christmas Day, Patrick pulled his cap over his tangled hair. He pushed his chin down into his thin coat hoping to slip away before anyone had a chance to recognize him or notice he was a young boy with no family. Two steps before reaching the door though a petite hand had wrapped itself around his elbow. Patrick didn't have to turn around to know who had reached out to him. He clicked his tongue in irritation and tried to forcefully pull away.

"Patrick, I know it's you." The hand's grip tightened until Patrick turned around sighing as he looked down at the angry green eyes of Shandley Callaghan.

"Merry Christmas Shandley." Patrick sighed.

"Where is Francis hiding? Did he already go outside?" The little girl looked around Patrick's thin frame towards the dark abyss outside the doors. Before Patrick had time to respond to her demands, Sister Cecilia came bustling towards him. Sister Cecilia had lost some of her youthful features and now had soft lines around her honey eyes. Still considered the sweetest nun among the sisters, Cecilia had an unwavering love in her lost boys.

"Patrick Conlon!" Sister Cecilia said sternly as her thin arms wrapped around the teenage boy.

"Sister Cecilia, I can't breathe." Patrick mumbled into her chest as she crushed him. Shandley was wandering around the door starring out in the crowd of families searching for the familiar brown hair and round face of Francis Sullivan.

"You horrible boy, I thought something terrible had happened to you. I thought I had taught you not to run off, such a horrible example to the others. Shandley Callaghan don't you wander off now." Sister Cecilia reached out and pulled the little girl back into the foyer of the church.

"Sorry Sister, I didn't mean to worry you." Patrick shifted his weight guiltily. "But pop hasn't been back yet has he?"

Sister Cecilia bit her lip looking into the young blue eyes. She wanted to lie to him with all her heart and save him the pain, but her scriptures taught never to lie.

"No sweet boy, he hasn't." Sister Cecilia ran her hand over his cheek.

"Yeah, figures." Patrick's mouth set harshly for the boy felt in his gut that his father would never come back. Shandley fidgeted in the nun's arms though still searching for Francis.

"Where is Francis?" The little girl demanded again.

"Sometimes I think you like him more than you like me." Patrick grumbled.

"No." Shandley shook her head, the blond almost white curls of her hair falling free of her hat. "You're just always together on Christmas."

"Where is Francis?" Sister Cecilia suddenly frowned realizing that her young charge was indeed correct. In all her time with the Sisters of St. Mary's she had never seen Francis without Patrick on a Christmas Eve.

"He's in the refuge." Patrick mumbled uncomfortably.

"Where?" Shandley demanded peeking outside again.

"The refuge." Patrick repeated louder looking right at Sister Cecilia now.

"The day you didn't come back," Sister Cecilia suddenly realized why her lost lambs hadn't returned to her in these three months. Patrick nodded wandering back into the empty church now, away from the cold bursting in from the doors. As long as someone had already recognized him, Patrick figured he might as well finish his Christmas Day traditions. Sister Cecilia sighed following the boy back into the sanctuary, pulling Shandley alongside her.

"Where is Francis?" Shandley asked again.

"He ain't coming." Patrick snapped at her angrily.

"Patrick," Sister Cecilia chastised him. Rubbing the little girl's shoulders, Sister Cecilia began to explain the situation to the nine-year-old.

"Angel, Francis has gotten into some trouble and can't come out to Mass tonight." She began.

"So Santa isn't going to come see him again this year?" Shandley looked disappointed. The little girl had been trying to prove to the two older boys for years that Santa Claus existed, especially to Francis. The young Sullivan proclaimed the same fact every year that Santa Claus didn't have time for the poor.

"Probably isn't going to see me either." Patrick sighed as he lit a candle and crossed himself as he whispered merry Christmas to his deceased mother.

"Sister Cecilia why are Francis and Patrick always on the naughty list?" Shandley frowned.

"It seems they can't behave themselves." Sister Cecilia sighed sadly as she watched Patrick stare at the flicker candle. Christmas had been hard on her boys since they had both lost their mothers to disease and fathers to hardships. Patrick yawned and turned around to face Sister Cecilia and the young Shandley.

"You won't make me stay?" He demanded. The boy didn't look young anymore his features had been hardened by the streets and his eyes had lost their innocence. Sister Cecilia shivered at his seriousness.

"Are you taking care of yourself?" She asked hopefully. Patrick didn't look any worse for the wear on the streets, quite the contrary it seemed to have benefited him to gain a sense of maturity and purpose.

"I got a roof over my head and food most of the time, I work for my money and haven't stolen anything since the day that Francis got taken away." Patrick recited as he started walking towards the door.

"He stole…" Sister Cecilia sounded pained at the information. Patrick nodded without turning around.

"Patrick!" Shandley tugged on the older boy's coat. Patrick sighed as he looked down at her again.

"Yeah?" He asked.

"Won't you stay its Christmas?" Shandley asked of him. Patrick shook his head though.

"Nope. Sorry, it's never been the same holiday for me as it was for you. But Happy Birthday." Patrick winked at her as he stepped onto the snow of the steps. Sister Cecilia hurried her step to be right behind the boy before he disappeared into the night, she wrapped her arms around his neck.

"May God protect you this year," She whispered to him.

"If you see him, tell him Merry Christmas?" Patrick whispered back. Shandley had slipped her hand into her pocket and pulled out a piece of toffee that she held out in her open palm towards him.

"Merry Christmas," She smiled. "Santa might not visit you and Francis, but he always brings me enough to share."

Patrick took the piece of toffee starring at Sister Cecilia accusingly before hunching up his shoulders and walking away into the darkness.

"Do you think we can see Francis tomorrow?" Shandley yawned.

"We shall see. Christmas is a time for miracles." Sister Cecilia held the little girl's hand as they walked to the sister's building next door.

"Maybe next year Santa will actually visit Francis and Patrick." Shandley smiled brightly. Sister Cecilia laughed. She was beginning to doubt that Patrick and Francis were ever going to learn to behave themselves.

Hours later as the midmorning sun shone through the windows of the orphanage, Shandley shouldered a basket of warm food onto her shoulder. Sister Cecilia tucked a shawl around the little girl's shoulders and the two slipped out the kitchen door. The city of New York was quiet under its blanket of fresh snow. The streets smelled of freshly baked bread and oysters. Dashing through the icy streets, Sister Cecilia noticed the lack of hustle and bustle of the city. She caught herself wondering what Patrick was doing to make his money. She knew the children of the city took up all sorts of dangerous work to just get by and she prayed for his safety.

Shandley's tugging hand pulled Sister Cecilia from her daze. It seemed that the two had arrived at the gate of the Manhattan Refugee. Starring at the dark and damper building Sister Cecilia already didn't like the looks of where Francis was spending his holidays. She knocked loudly at the porter's door and a grimly looking young man answered.

"Can I help you Sister?" He asked noticing her habitat.

"Please, I'm here to see one of your boys. He is a member of our community, I wanted to make sure he celebrate with God today." Sister Cecilia recited to him.

"Well," The porter huffed, "I'm not sure if Mr. Snyder will allow it."

"Sir I can assure you that we provide Mr. Snyder with much needed help during the year and it would be in his best interest to allow me access to this young man." Sister Cecilia pressed. She knew that she might be faced with opposition from this government run facility she was about as much of a fan of Warden Snyder as she had been of Mr. Sullivan. After some cajoling of the porter, Sister Cecilia and little Shandley had been allowed into a visitors' parlor that was rarely used at the refugee.

"There are no Christmas decorations." Shandley noticed of the drab surroundings. "No smell of oysters. No stockings." She frowned. "Is it because these boys are all on the naughty list?"

Sister Cecilia nodded at the girl as she pranced around the room. The older lady had assumed that Shandley would outgrow her attachment to Santa Claus over the years. But nothing deterred the little girl's faith in the power of the Christmas Spirit. After a few moments of silence, footsteps could he heard on the wooden floors of the hallway. Francis Sullivan opened the door, grinning at his two visitors lovingly.

Francis Sullivan still had a happy-go-lucky air to him. His idealism hadn't been lost in all the sorrow that had marred his young life. Though his eyes still shone with optimism and his grin was eternally charismatic Sister Cecilia could see his rough edges. Patrick and Francis were now fighters in their own worlds outside her protective grasp.

"Happy Birthday Shandley." He smiled and winked.

"Santa Claus?" The little girl smiled back at him expectedly. But Francis took a deep breath and shook his head.

"He doesn't see boys like me." Francis shrugged. Shandley dug into her pocket and pulled out two-pieces of toffee.

"I had three…" She suggested as she held out her hand.

"You saw Patrick?" Francis asked hopefully as he snatched up his piece of candy. Sister Cecilia studied the young man in front of her. He was thin, poorly fed from what she could gather and his shirt was several sizes to big. She noticed he had tied up his pants with a piece of old rope and she made a mental note to bring him clothing the next time she visited.

"He wished you a Merry Christmas, are you boys fighting?" Sister Cecilia asked him.

"Fighting is a strong word." Francis shrugged as he leaned against one of the parlor chairs.

"How strong?" Sister Cecilia pressed. Francis Sullivan was a well-known storyteller, improving facts to fit his story was one of his many talents.

"Is he doing all right?" Francis carefully lifted the lid of the basket that Shandley was holding in front of him. The look of hunger in his eyes broke the nun's heart and she allowed him to distract her.

"He appears to be doing well enough, though I think he should come back to us." She sighed.

"I don't think that's in our future Sister." Francis shook his head as he bit into a biscuit.

"But we'll always see you at Christmas?" Shandley demanded of him.

"Until Santa Claus stops visiting you." Francis smiled knowingly at Sister Cecilia. It was the best promise a boy like Francis Sullivan could make and he knew it.

"What happened with your father?" Sister Cecilia asked now.

"Got himself thrown in jail. Like father, like son?" Francis shrugged, his warm brown eyes losing some of their glow.

"Francis Sullivan." Sister Cecilia stood up suddenly and strode across the parlor placing both her delicate hands on the boy's shoulders.

"You will never be a man like your father, do you understand?" She asked him. Shandley watched the exchange curiously as one of her heroes was shaken by her guardian. Shandley Callaghan loved Francis Sullivan and Patrick Conlon, she had since the first night she had meet them. The two young Irish boys that only appeared in her world once a year captivated her. Francis with his warm smile and his happy eyes made her always feel warm. While Patrick with his reckless posture and penetrating stare made her feel safe. The two of them were as much part of her Christmas traditions as Santa Claus. Also the little girl prayed every year that the boys be forgiven for their troublesome ways and that maybe just once Santa Claus would bring them some holiday cheer. Shandley's prayers had yet to be answered but the little girl was ever hopeful that it would happen one year.

"Yes ma'am." Francis stared down at his worn out shoes.

"You are already a better man that your father ever was, but please try not to steal anymore?" She begged him.

"There are others ways not to starve." Francis laughed to himself darkly. "So Shandley, Santa Claus still visited you this year even though I'm sure you were naughty?" Francis bent down to be at eye level with her green eyes.

"Well no one can be as naughty as you are." She smiled and nodded at him.

"Yes, I suppose that's true. It's a talent really." Francis shook his brown hair out of his eyes.

"But I know he's going to visit you one day." Shandley declared.

"Of course he is kid, of course he is, maybe he'll just keep visiting you instead?" Francis suggested spitting into his hand and holding it out to the little girl.

"Maybe I will leave him a note next year." Shandley spit into her own hand and shook hands with Francis.

"Deal." Francis laughed as he stood back up and stuffed his pocket with a warm potato. A harsh knock sounded at the door.

"Visiting time is over, forgive me sister but this hooligan is due to locked up for disrespect." The young warden opened the door and beckoned for Francis.

"As is the life on the naughty list." Francis smiled nonchalantly. He allowed himself to be pushed harshly down the hallway and into a closet cell that he had already come to know well in his short time at the refugee. Being left in the dark, Francis pulled out his potato and piece of toffee and pulled up his knees to his chest.

"Merry Christmas to me." He sighed quietly as he looked around at his bare surroundings. "Hope you all don't mind, but this is definitely the last time I spend the advent season with you folks." Noticing a folded up newspaper on the ground Francis bent down to pick up the yellowing paper. His brown eyes read the title of the paper, The World. The paper was one from early in September and as Francis read the articles about the Cuban War and the push for reforms in five points, the young man formulated a plan. Remembering the shouted headlines outside the windows of the refugee on a daily basis, Francis knew what he would do to avoid starving when he escaped his newest prison. He didn't have a doubt that he could be a successful newsie. Remembering even biblical story that Sister Cecilia had ever told him, Francis knew that to start anew most of the characters had changed their names. So as he savored his piece of toffee and enjoyed a sensational story on a cowboy named Jack in Wild West the young man knew that his life as Francis Sullivan was coming to a close.

"No more living in my pop's shadow. When I get out of here, I won't be a Sullivan anymore." Francis whispered to himself as he dozed off in his cell alone.


	3. The Son

**_The Son...._ **

**December 24****th****, 1899 **

"Jack you sure you don't want to skip out on the evening post and just come have dinner with my family?" David Jacobs asked for the fifth time. Jack smiled at his friend and threw his arm over the walking mouth's shoulders.

"Davy, I appreciate the offer really but I got to make a few more cents for the evening and I got plans." Jack rolled his eyes repeating the same answer he had given the first few times David had asked him.

"But Jack you can come and see the tree that Pa actually got this year! And Sarah will make one of her sweet pies." Les said dreamily tugging at his hero.

Before Jack had a moment to answer though a snowball came hurtling at the back of his head.

"Hey cowboy!" Blink's voice taunted as the blond boy ducked behind the Horace Greenly statue.

"Coward!" Jack hollered at him as he bent down to collect ice into his hand. Throwing snowballs in the cold winter of the city without gloves was an undesirable task but Jack couldn't let his honor go so easily. Elbowing David and giving him a nod to play along Jack's booming voice rang out.

"Check out that looker over there Dave, she's just about as pretty as the mayor's daughter."

"The cherry head over there?" David laughed knowing that Kid Blink had a soft spot for red hair.

Blink peeked out just enough behind the statue for Jack to clobber him with his perfect snowball. The tall newsie leader rolled his hands together immediately after hurling the snowball and blew what little hot air he could manage to warm them back up again. The warmth wouldn't last him long though as Blink chucked another ball of ice that hit his leader square in the jaw.

"That's how you want to play," Jack growled as he scooped up more snow. In moments the distribution square looked as if a snowstorm had settled directly over the newsboys of The World.

"We'll see you tomorrow!" David shouted at Jack grabbing Les and hurrying away from the crossfire. As the chiming bell of the selling dock sounded signaling the evening paper was off the presses the snow settled calmly over everything. Jack shivered as he shook the ice out of his long brown hair.

"Jacky boy has got good aim, maybe he's learning something from all those Wild West stories he reads." Racetrack mocked helping Jack shake out the snow with his hand. When the slightly colder but more satisfied leader stood back up Skittery handed him a lit cigarette.

"A smoke to warm you up?" He offered.

"Thanks Skitts." Jack greedily took the burning stick and puffed away regaining the little warmth he had before the snowy battle. Shuffling his feet to come face to face with an older man that didn't engage as much as Weasel had before him. Jack slammed enough money on the counter for 25 papers.

"Merry Christmas." Jack sighed as he finished counting his stack and skipping down the steps.

"Hey Jack you gonna disappear again tonight?" Crutchy demanded from further down the line.

"I'll be back sometime tomorrow morning." Jack nodded smiling.

"You going to stay with the Jacobs?" Racetrack laughed mischievously as he picked up his papers.

"About as much as youse spending it with the horses, Race." Jack shook his head laughing. It was a well-known fact that though Racetrack would love nothing better than to spend Christmas Day at the tracks they were closed during the winter months. Jack dragged his feet in the dirty snow of the streets moving to stand outside of a prestigious looking bank to wait for his customers. He tapped his feet maintaining movement to maintain his body warmth as he pursued the merchandise he was selling this evening. The end of December meant a variety of things in the city; mostly it was the usual recap of the year and celebration of the holidays. This year that idea was magnified as the 19th century was coming to a close.

At sixteen, Jack Kelly had already re-invented himself once. The young man had taken his life into his own hands and created a new world to live in. He smiled thinking about how well he had accomplished this feat and how his world had almost collapsed this year. 1899 had brought the leader of the Manhattan newsboys his greatest battles and his greatest triumphs. He had no idea what his future would bring in, at the turn of the century, nor did he waste too much time thinking about it. One day at a time, one edition at a time almost, that was the life of a newsboy living on the streets of the vast growing city of New York.

The oil street lamps had been turned on and Jack was resisting the temptation to lean against the frozen metal. He didn't have to stand on the corner long before the businessmen started walking out and purchasing their penny papers. As a crisp wind blew through the narrow street Jack pulled up his tattered red scarf over his ears. He jingled the pennies in his pocket, calculating how much he could spare for a cup of coffee before heading towards Brooklyn. Pushing his chin into his chest and trying to blow warm air into his shirt, Jack Kelly didn't notice where the black boots came from.

"Happy Christmas young fellow." An older voice brimming with an unrecognizable joy snapped Jack out of his planning.

"Sir," Jack stuttered being caught off guard by so many things. The businessman, as Jack assumed he must be, was standing unusually close to the newsboy. The man was dressed in a long overcoat and a cherry red scarf that didn't seem fashionable at all.

"Are you selling the evening paper there, son?" The older gentlemen pointed down to the last paper that Jack was clutching. Jack nodded starring oddly at the man's jovial round face and snow-white beard.

"Yes sir, penny a pape?" Jack held out the crumpled up paper without removing his gaze from the man's face.

"Ah yes, respectable paper is it?" The man nodded leaning down to place a bag near Jack's feet as he searched his pockets for money.

'Yes sir." Jack stuttered again. The man pulled out a quarter and handed it to Jack. Fishing into his pocket for his change the older man shook his head.

"No, no. Keep the change young man." The man insisted.

"But you only bought one pape," Jack frowned as he pulled out his handful of pennies.

"Well I was wondering if you might do me a favor in exchange? You see I'm running terribly late already." The man turned his round face to look skyward as the stars were starting to twinkle above them.

"Favor?" Jack said suspiciously, he knew this man was too generous.

"This bag," The man pointed. "Are a few items for the orphans at St. Mary's and I wanted them to get there tonight."

"St. Mary's, the Catholic Church?" Jack responded shocked.

"Yes that's the one, are you familiar with it?" The man smiled knowingly. Jack just nodded.

"Well then might you deliver these items to them? There is a wrapped item that is for the most charming young lady I've ever met. If you can just ensure that it gets to her as well? We can consider ourselves even?" The man held out his hand for Jack to shake.

"Yes sir. Of course." Jack nodded shaking the man's hand in a stunned trance.

"I commit you to God, may he send you a Merry Christmas." The man's eyes twinkled under the street lamp.

"You too sir," Jack smiled warmly and bent down to pick up the bag but once he stood back up the street was empty. Feeling a strange sensation of calm and inner warmth after the meeting, Jack carried the bag as he jogged towards his point of meeting.

Spot Conlon didn't look forward to many things in his life. Anticipation was expectation and both lead to being sorely disappointed on a regular basis. But there was something about Christmas that the tough Brooklyn leader couldn't shake. Even his newsies had pointed out that their leader was in an unusually good mood this morning. December was a cold month, which made it harder on boys of the streets than other months. Not to mention the sad memories that stirred whenever Spot saw snow. But Christmas Eve was the only night of the year that Spot Conlon had a past, a family, and above all a warm loving moment.

His step had a skip in it as he wandered the familiar path to his childhood neighborhood. He found himself reflecting on the year that had just passed, knowing that tonight was a beginning and an ending. Spot Conlon had achieved the impossible feat of organizing the toughest newsboys of the city the previous year. And this year the boy king had helped his oldest friend take down a tyrant; Joseph Pulitzer himself had bent to the will of street kids of New York. As he walked down a dark alleyway he smiled at the hopeful children pressed against windows. His blue eyes scanned the skies with the children of the buildings around him, looking for some faint sign of old St. Nick. He laughed as he thought he heard a faint jingling of bells.

"What are you laughing at Conlon?" The steam escaped Jack's mouth giving him away as the dark figure against the wall.

"Your ugly face Kelly," Spot spit into his hand and held it out to the taller boy. They hastily shook hands, Jack taking out a match before even asking if Spot would like a smoke. Lighting two sticks, Jack handed off one to Spot as he began puffing his for warmth. Smoking was not only a newsie nervous habit but also one of the main ways the boys maintained their warmth in the winter. Smoking together in a silent conversation is where Shandley and Sister Cecilia found their two lost boys.

"What an abhorrent habit you boys picked up smoking like chimney pipes in the city of London." Sister Cecilia waved at them to put out the cigarettes and the boys just smiled. Shandley stepped forward boldly. The sleeping babe of the Christmas Eve of 1889 had transformed over the years. She no longer had pudgy hands or dimpled cheeks. Instead Shandley had stretched out to be slender with long legs and long arms and her complexion had stayed the butter cream white of the Irish with sprinkled freckles along her cheeks and arms. Her white blond hair had never gotten any darker and still curled like it had when she was a toddler. The eleven year old stood tall enough to reach Spot Conlon's chin and her green eyes were looking straight at the boys.

"Sister Cecilia where is Shandley this evening?" Spot mocked looking over the girl standing in front of him. Shandley twirled dramatically once sending the pleats of her low-waist dress flying up over her knees.

"It can't possibly be this creature in front of us, she's far to big." Jack laughed as he threw his flickering cigarette bud to the ground. Shandley stuck out her tongue and stomped one of her petite feet over Jack Kelly's large toe.

"No it's definitely not Shandley Callaghan acting so naughty on Christmas Eve, of all nights." Spot mocked.

"Boys stop teasing her." Sister Cecilia laughed reaching out to hug the tough looking leader of Brooklyn.

"Santa Claus?" Shandley finally spoke to Jack the same first two words she always said to him.

"Nope, remember he doesn't come to see me." Jack bent down wrap his arms around her tiny waist. Swinging the little girl around once before putting her down to free his arms to hug Sister Cecilia. Jack was now taller than his guardian and his muscular arms enclosed the little nun in a way that was reminiscent of her holding him when he was just a boy.

"You know that St. Nick usually comes at night and yet you always ask if he's seen us before or after mass. I think you suspect he doesn't visit us." Spot poked at Shandley's side playfully.

"I'm still sure that one day you both will get off the naughty list." Shandley smiled as she pulled out three toffee pieces from her pocket. "Until then…"

Spot reached out his hand to pick up his piece first when Sister Cecilia smacked it away. Jack stifled a laugh at the all mighty Brooklyn being denied anything within his grasp. Avoiding the glare that Conlon was sending him Jack bent down to pick up the mysterious package he had been paid to deliver.

"Not before mass. Shandley you should know better." The nun pushed her children forward and into the church and out of the cold as people started trickling in.

"A man gave me this to deliver Sister Cecilia for the orphans. Where should I leave it during the service?" Jack looked around him for a place he might store the package.

"Give it here I will put it in Father O'Reilly's office, maybe he can hear your confessions after mass." Sister Cecilia took the package as she pointedly suggested the boys contrite for their sins of the year.

"Is it true that you lead the strike?" Shandley asked Jack happily bouncing on her toes.

"Well Spot helped." Jack laughed.

"Are boys still using those new names, whoever heard of naming yourselves. With such strong faithful names like Francis and Patrick to change them," Sister Cecilia mumbled as she scurried out of the dark office. Before anymore conversation could take place though the church bells started ringing. Shandley and Sister Cecilia moved towards the front of the church as Jack and Spot hung towards the back hoping not to be recognized by the community of churchgoers that had come over with their families' years ago.

Jack and Spot sat at the back of the church starring at Father O'Reilly's back. The boys listened to the familiar hum of the Latin mass recognizing phrases from the servers every so often.

"Et cum spiritu tuo." Echoed through the church as Jack started focusing on the flickering flames of the candles. While Spot was discreetly moving his lips softly humming prayers, the only thing his mother had ever been able to teach him.

"We keep Catherine Sullivan…" Father O'Reilly's voice brought Jack's attention back to the altar and proceedings of the mass. The homily had started and the old priest knowing the lost sons of two of his deceased parishioners were hiding in the back had made sure to mention their souls in his prayers.

"And Grace Conlon." Spot smiled remembering where he would sit in the church with his mother. Spot remembered crawling under the pews and could hear his father's laughter mixing in with the familiar telling of the nativity from Father O'Reilly. The Latin chanting of earlier in the evening was suddenly explained, not that the boys weren't familiar with the story. Jack watched Sister Cecilia take in a deep breath her body settling into a reverent calm as the angel came upon Mary, Joseph and the baby Jesus.

"And the angel said unto them. Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people." Father O'Reilly explained to his flock. And so the celebration of devotion continued as a living memory of everything from a past life for both legendry leaders of street kids. It wasn't that Jack Kelly and Spot Conlon were extremely devout by any standard, quite the contrary, the boys might be considered closer to heathens than Catholics. But though their daily lives were full of fistfights and shouted lies but boys knew that even the heroes of the bible had lived harsh times and hope was always present. The fact was that they had always attended this mass; this service was like their Christmas tree, a celebration of the holiday more than anything else.

As Father O'Reilly walked pass the back pew the old Irish man winked at the two boys with a smile. The priest was proud of them, the boys had left their little community of hardships and made a name for themselves and helped others. Father O'Reilly had read the papers during the strike and laughed at the images of little Francis Sullivan with a big mouth and bigger heart. Or of the description of the spunky Patrick Conlon with an iron fist and piercing stare that could make the greatest men crumble.

Spot settled his hat back on as the mass ended pushing his blond hair underneath the rim. Jack had moved towards the candles already and lifted one to light another.

"God bless her. I know she's watching over you." Sister Cecilia had appeared next to him, her cloth covered head leaning against the boy's shoulder. Jack's smile was reflected in the stain glass he stood in front of as he nodded. Spot had moved to another table of candles and was lighting his quietly when Shandley slipped her hand into his. The little girl didn't say a word but squeezed her soft child fingers around his rough hand.

"No more sadness this is a time for celebration, come! Come, young heroes I must hear about your year!" Father O'Reilly had clasped his hands together and the sound rang through the empty church.

"I have saved some warm dinner for you boys over at the orphanage." Sister Cecilia ushered Jack towards the entrance of the church. While Shandley pulled Spot away from the candles, Spot teasingly pulling her towards him not allowing her much success in moving him.

"The package sister," Jack reminded her. As the nun scrambled into the room where she had left the package, Father O'Reilly placed his arms paternally around both boys' shoulders as he ushered them into the snow. Shandley skipped around letting her shoes imprint onto the shoe.

Father O'Reilly had taken a particular interest in the two newsboys the previous year. There was something about their gumption that attracted the old man. He believed that the boys were carrying out the true American dream of working their way up. And he was truly touched by their insistence to visit their past once a year on such a holy night as Christmas Eve. Being the Irish man that he was, he of course attributed the boys working spirit to the fact that they came from Kilkenny County.

After only moments in the harsh icy cold of the city's winter night, the little group found themselves in a warm kitchen. Sister Cecilia placed the package that Jack had carried from Manhattan near the door.

"Some tea then Francis? Patrick?" Sister Cecilia asked as she hovered over the stove.

"Jack and Spot, Sister?" Jack pointed at himself and Spot trying to emphasize his point. The nun's refusal to acknowledge the boys new lives was frustrating to say the least.

"The new names stuck then?" Father O'Reilly laughed delightedly. "They are like all the great men of the bible Sister, once they found their new calling they took on new names to reflect their new lives with God!"

"They had good saint names to begin with and if anything I think the boys have moved further away from God." Sister Cecilia grumbled annoyed.

"It's a present for me!" Shandley squealed delighted having peaked into the package that Jack had brought with him. All the older eyes in the room turned to stare at her surprised.

"A present for me!" Shandley lifted a flatly wrapped object that had a note attached.

_To a little girl with the unwavering belief in Santa Claus, Merry Christmas Young Shandley. _

Jack blinked as the Shandley shoved it in his face. Spot's eyes read over Jack's shoulder and smiled.

"Speaking of Santa Claus, where is my piece of toffee?" Spot held out his hand out demandingly.

"What were you doing snooping over there Miss Shandley? How rude of you." Sister Cecilia shook her head placing the teacups in front of her boys.

"I thought there might be something in there for you, the older gentleman mentioned there being something for a charming young lady. You were the rascal that came to mind." Jack took his piece of toffee before Spot could steal a second piece.

"May I open it! Please Sister Cecilia! It is Christmas already!" Shandley begged holding the object close to her chest lovingly. The lines around the woman's face creased forming a slight frown but before she could refuse Spot spoke up.

"I haven't seen anyone open a Christmas present in years." He commented slipping at his tea. No one but Jack caught the mischievous look of triumph that flickered in his features. Sister Cecilia's honey eyes widen and her mouth dropped open into a little "o" shape and she found herself nodding quickly.

Shandley scurried around Jack and squirmed her way to sit nicely between Spot and Jack at the little table. She set down the package adoringly in front of her on the table and carefully undid the string that was holding the paper together. In a nervous slowness, her delicate cream-colored hands unwrapped her gift from a mysterious benefactor. Five pair of eyes stared down at the table to find a book. The cover was a beige color with green holly bordering the large letters of the title and in red and green letters it read "A Visit from St. Nicholas."

"Look! Look! See Santa Claus has a book about him! He must exist!" Shandley pushed her shoulders into both Spot and Jack as she bounced back and forth between them. Spot rolled his eyes and Jack shook his head eyeing Sister Cecilia.

"Well a Saint Nicholas did exist." Father O'Reilly provided as the excited child opened the pages of the book as carefully as she could. Her green eyes read the words on the pages, as she entered a sort of trance.

"Story books aren't fact, maybe if it was in the paper," Jack suggested but Shandley didn't even look up from her book. Spot and Jack shrugged knowing that she would be consumed in her present for most of the night.

"So tell us about your year, what is this about a strike? Were you boys misbehaving?" Sister Cecilia asked as she placed two plates of warm food in front of the boys carefully before she sat down.

"Sister these aren't boys, they are young men! And they did a good thing!" Father O'Reilly boomed. So Jack and Spot went into the re-telling of their memorable year, interchanging from their different point of views. When Spot was talking Jack would look down at the page of Shandley's book and read the words. And when Jack was talking Spot would do the same, intrigued by what this story had to say.

"Who would name a reindeer dasher?" Spot frowned as he whispered the demand into the girl's ear.

"Who would name themselves Spot?" Shandley responded smartly. Jack laughed at the interchange and placed his arm around the girl's shoulders. Shandley rested her head on the side of Jack's torso, still holding her book reading the pages about how Christmas came to the family in the story. Spot reached out to pinch her nose but Shandley's hand stopped him and instead the girl brought his hand down to sit intertwined with hers on her lap.

"And still no word for your fathers?" Sister Cecilia asked ignoring their childish exchange.

"Pop's still in prison from all I know…" Jack sighed chewing with his mouth open.

"Unless you've heard something? I don't think he's ever coming back but who needs him." Spot murmured angrily. As the night hours passed, Father O'Reilly excused himself to sleep before his Christmas Day dawn mass. He wished the boys luck in their upcoming year before ducking out the kitchen door. Sister Cecilia was telling about Shandley's outstanding academic work when they noticed the child had fallen asleep.

"It's late Jacky Boy." Spot yawned noticing for the first time that evening that he was unbearably tired.

"We've over stayed our welcome." Jack nodded tucking his hands under the girl's knees. Spot grabbed the book from her lap so it wouldn't fall to the ground. He stared at the page that she was on, reading the description of St. Nick himself over the illustration of a pump jolly old fellow on the page.

"This is going to make her believe in this nonsense longer." Spot sighed. "Ain't she getting to old for this?"

"You should really tell her that the toffee is from you Sister, though" Jack nodded cradling her in his arms. His brown eyes wandered to the open page that Spot held. "That gentleman that gave me the package did look like, no that's impossible." Jack shook his head forcefully.

"Jack needs to sleep." Spot patted Jack on the shoulder, closing the book and placing it on the table.

"I think she knows boys. But something keeps her believing in the tale of Old St. Nick. I wouldn't take away that kind of faith from anyone." Sister Cecilia hugged Spot as she shook her head. Kissing Jack on the cheek she held out her arms to accept the sleeping Shandley Callaghan. It seemed that this was always the ending to the girl's meeting with the young Sullivan and Conlon, asleep in someone's arms.

As Sister was accepting her though Shandley clutched to Jack's shirt.

"You'll come back next year, you and Spot?" She whispered, with her eyes still closed.

"As long as Santa Claus keeps visiting you." Jack sighed. He was starting to worry that one-day they wouldn't be able to come, but there was no use worrying the girl.

"You'll see one day he'll visit you too. Maybe he just can't find you with your new names." Shandley yawned as she let go of Jack's shirt.

"Happy Birthday Shandley." Spot kissed the sleeping girl on the forehead.

"Happy Birthday and Good night." Jack patted her head and the boys adjusted their clothing to go back out into the cold of the night. The two old friends stepped out as the snow started falling and with a slight adjustment in their shoulders their whole world changed again. Sister Cecilia watched as the two happy young men that had been sitting in her kitchen returned to their cold harsh world. She watched them until they disappeared into the darkness, where she knew they would part ways and head back to their lodging houses alone. At least there was one night a year that they felt they could come home.

"And Merry Christmas to all…" Shandley whispered the words from her new book before closing her eyes and slipping into a deep sleep.


	4. The Holy Ghost

**_The Holy Ghost…_**

**December 24****th****, 1903 **

Jack crinkled his nose up as he stepped out into the fresh blanket of snow that had come to the city overnight. Not even the natural cleansing could hide the smell of dirt and sweat that reaped from every corner of the city. He was leaving The World building, through the same ornamented doors he had once been thrown out of only four years before. Jack Kelly had become a newspaperman, a no nonsense writer for Joseph Pulitzer himself.

It was Christmas Eve and he felt an odd tug of anticipation in the pit of his stomach. It had been two years since he had last been near St. Mary's church, and it had been two years since he had seen the familiar warm faces of Sister Cecilia and young Shandley Callaghan. Last winter Spot and Jack had followed a construction job down to the Jersey shore and spent the Christmas Season working on a rich family's garden. And though the men had sent a Christmas card, the new fashion in society, to their old friends Jack was worried that Shandley hadn't been satisfied.

It had been different being in an open space as the snow fell, to not fell the omnipresence of the buildings and humdrum of all the people. In the countryside Christmas was a peaceful affair and snow brought with it a sense of renewal. But it hadn't felt right to either Jack or Spot, there had been something missing from their holiday affairs. So as the young man dug his hands deep into his coat, he smiled at the dirty snow and echoing footsteps around him.

Coming to a familiar corner, Jack spotted his curly headed teenage boy. Snipeshooter had shot up in the last few years, standing tall upon Jack's old corner. An older gentleman was buying a paper from the boy and Jack blinked as recognition dawned on him. The white hair, the rosy cheeks, the white beard that reminded him of Shandley's curls all felt strangely familiar to Jack. The man shuffled away down the street and into a little shop at the corner.

"Hey Jacky boy." Snipeshooter smiled putting out a cigarette and pulling out a paper from his stack for his old leader.

"Merry Christmas Snipes." Jack handed the boy a nickel.

"Thanks Cowboy." Snipeshooter pocketed the shiny nickel and bounced lightly on his toes.

"How are the boys treating you?" Jack asked as he checked over the Christmas Eve Edition of his paper. Though his brown eyes traveled down the street every few seconds watching for the familiar old gentlemen to exit the store.

"You know, us Manhattan boys are calm and harmonious." Snipeshooter laughed using a word from a recent article Jack himself had written.

"Yes, yes. You read the papers too sometimes," Jack winked. Suddenly Jack noticed a worn tip of a playing card in the younger boys pocket. He frowned down at Snipeshooter and stared expectedly.

Snipeshooter shifted his weight uncomfortably recognizing his old leader's disapproval. Jack stared pointedly at the boy's pocket and Snipes followed the gaze until his eyes rested on the worn out playing card.

"Well? Are you gambling again then?" Jack demanded. Snipes shamefully pushed the card safety down and out of sight.

"Not much there Jack." Snipes mouth moved nervously to one side as his eyes avoided Jack's face.

"Snipeshooter?" Jack's tone was deep in disapproval.

"Jacky Boy, look here you ain't the leader anymore…" Snipes started in a shabby attempt to control the situation. Jack's face-hardened more at each word.

"Snipeshooter?" Jack sighed.

"Yeah, yeah. I'll stop." Snipeshooter shrugged foolishly.

"You'd had better, I thought we beat the habit out of you." Jack smacked the boy upside the head in a manner befitting to their years of friendship.

"The mice shall play when the cat's away." Snipes shrugged.

"You're the cat now friend, you're the cat now." Jack winked as he turned to start walking away. "Tell the boys Merry Christmas, try not to stay out in the cold too long."

"Yes sir." Snipeshooter nodded as Jack started walking down the street. Jack's pace was quicker than usual as he hurried towards the store that the familiar man had entered. Upon reaching the corner he noticed the store was a toyshop, yellow boxes of crayons and fancy dolls sat in the window display. Jack pushed open the door and a little bell gave a silvery ring signaling his arrival to the shopkeeper.

"Evening sir, we're closing in about ten minutes. May I help you find something?" The old gentleman that had just bought the paper from Snipeshooter was now standing behind the counter. Jack stared at the man, speechless, as he tried to gather his wits about him.

"Sir?" The man prompted.

"Yes, I'm sorry. I just, I came in because, I was trying to…" Jack tried to form a thought as his eyes searched the store for a reason he might have entered.

"Forgot to buy a child a present?" The old man gave a cheery laugh.

"Forgot to buy a present." Jack frowned and nodded.

"Maybe a little girl?" The man came out from behind the counter and walked towards a shelf that was out of Jack's view.

"Well she's not so little anymore." Jack found the words just coming out before he thought about them.

"Well all girls are young at heart. These are all the new fashion, named after our president Teddy Roosevelt." The man held a little stuffed bear in his hand for Jack to see. Jack laughed Teddy Roosevelt was a constant figure in his life, it seemed only necessary to be shown the toy named after his constant savior.

"A Teddy Bear. Yes I read about them." Jack smiled taking the bear in his hand imaging Shandley's face of being brought a present this year.

"You think the young lady would like it?" The man asked moving behind the desk.

"You don't think it's too childish?" Jack asked setting the toy bear on the counter and looking around the store again.

"Not at all. I think she'll love it." The old man let out another silvery laugh and Jack knew he was right.

"How much is it?" Jack asked now nervously. The teddy bear was of course the newest rage in toys and as all fashionable things might be expensive. The old man was already wrapping up the bear and without looking up Jack could see his smile.

"Consider it my bit of Christmas cheer young man. Maybe you can spread some joy this year?" The man pushed the package forward on the counter.

"But sir, I couldn't possibly." Jack started but the man was already magically around the counter and pushing Jack towards the door.

"I really must close and get home to my family. I commit you to God, may he send you a merry Christmas." The man said as he closed the door forcefully behind Jack. As the bell rang and the wood slamming against the frame echoing down the street, Jack suddenly remembered the old man. But as he turned around the lights were already off and the store looked deserted. Jack frowned but started walking away knowing if he dawdled anymore he would be late. He tucked the little package of the bear into his coat and under his arm.

Jack arrived outside another storefront and leaned against the brick building and pulled out a cigarette. It was a habit he had yet to break free of though he didn't spend much time out in the cold anymore. As the darkness of the night settled over everything and light poured out of the homes on the other side of the street, Jack tapped his foot impatiently. A rusty bell rang from behind him and Jack threw the bud of his cigarette down and stepped up on it.

"About time." He stated.

"Well not all of us don't really work Jacky boy." Spot sighed locking the door of the shop. Spot Conlon had started working as a sales boy at a tailor shop and was doing well enough for himself. The two boys were sharing an attic spaced apartment on Cherry Street in one of the newer tenant buildings. But tonight they weren't going home, tonight they were heading to the streets they were born on.

"I got toffee pieces, three." Spot pulled out the wrapped candy from his pocket and grinned.

"I'm impressed you didn't eat any of them." Jack laughed.

"I've got some self control Jacky boy." Spot playfully punched his old friend.

"You bought a paper?" Spot asked noticing the rolled up paper in Jack's coat pocket.

"Always," Jack handed over the old paper and Spot tried to skim the articles under the little light on the street. It was a familiar walk, in a familiar manner and every step was like a shimmering memory or glimpse into a past long forgotten. A newspaper between the two of them was an echo of their newsboy past, of cold nights, giddy friends and violent disputes. And though their faces had aged, Francis Sullivan's idealist bronze eyes still shone with the same delight as they had when he was a child. And Patrick Conlon had never lost the roughish roundness of his face that deceived many to doubt his fierceness. The two boys had lived three different lives and both within their early twenties still moved to return to where their story had begun. The three toffee pieces in Spot's pocket represented the only moments of pure joy that they had experienced in their trial and tribulation filled lives.

The young men turned the corner and the little stone church, St. Mary's came into view. The warmth of the streaming light and carried hushed conversations in a slight Irish accent breath colored into Jack and Spot. The community of American Irish from Kilkenny County had not been lost as first generation children filled its pews. The first Christmas Eve that Jack had stepped into this little church had been in 1884 and nothing had changed since that first mass. He had attended the midnight service every year since his birth, except for two years once in 1897 and 1902. The little stone cathedral was as much part of Jack's Christmas traditions as Christmas trees were for families on Fifth Avenue.

"Did you ever think Jacky boy when you were hiding in your mother's skirts from your rotten father that we would come this far?" Spot asked quietly. Jack snapped to stare at Spot curiously realizing his friend's blue eyes were glued to a young boy a few feet away. The little boy was falling asleep as his boy was leaned into the lengths of fabric of his mother's skirt.

"I think you're mother would have boxed you ears to hear you talk about my father that way." Jack shrugged still captivated by the little boy in his mother's skirts.

"I don't remember her much anymore." Spot sighed.

"I barely remember my mother either. But when I'm here, I can remember her better." Jack pried his eyes away from the boy and started scanning the crowd for his familiar faces. The two young men walked into the church unnoticed and took their usual places in the back of the church.

"Did you see them?" Spot asked turning his head to observe the young family walking into the church.

"No. It's strange they are usually here early. Did you talk to them at all since we saw them last?" Jack frowned watching a group of orphans being ushered in by old Sister Hannah.

"I kept meaning to stop by, but I don't come over this way except for this time of year." Spot mumbled ashamed that he hadn't come. "Have you?"

"Well between working at the paper and checking in on the boys…." Jack started mumbling as the entrance procession started. Sister Cecilia hurried past Jack with a baby in her arms. Jack elbowed Spot to direct his attention to their favorite nun. There was still no sign of the young Shandley Callaghan though. Jack frowned trying to find her, keeping in mind that the girl would be nearing sixteen and not look as he remembered her. But no one had the white blond hair curling at the ends and there were no evergreen eyes that turned to find Spot or Jack.

Spot studied the newer families, the unfamiliar faces that had joined the little community he had come from with a sad hunger. He watched as babies fell asleep in their mother's arms. He watched as fathers flick their toddlers to stop their fidgeting. His memories unfolded before him as the Latin words of the mass lulled around him. He remembered the last Christmas his family was together. His young father had brought home a tiny tree, though the family couldn't afford it. He remembered his thin and pale mother, sick that year covered in a knitted blanket in her rocking chair. The tree had brought light to her crystal blue eyes that now Spot was seeing on the face of every young Irish mother in the church. He smiled as he remembered opening his present that Christmas. A small wooden top that his parents had claimed was from Santa Claus. He had played with that top all morning until he saw his friend Francis crying on the steps of their building.

Spot blinked and the images were gone, as he remembered why he hadn't celebrated Christmas much since that winter. As his hand went into his pocket he smiled again though, this was the first time that Spot Conlon had ever purchased a gift for anyone on Christmas. The almighty leader of Brooklyn had given people gifts before, mostly girls he had seen at one point or another but never anything so personal as the little piece of toffee in his pocket. As he listened to the chanting of old Father O'Reilly, Spot Conlon suddenly understood why he had come back to this little church tucked in the mist of Brooklyn every year since his mother had died. This was where he belonged on Christmas Eve, this is where he the only family he had was at and this is the only place he could be peaceful even for a few hours.

"Amen." The closing of the mass set both men onto their feet. Father O'Reilly winked at them as he walked past them as he had done for years. As the church bells rang ushering in the beginning of Christmas Day, Jack thought he could hear a jolly laughter and silver bells. Waiting for the last child to scamper after his older sister, Sister Cecilia walked towards her lost boys with tears in her honey eyes.

"Francis, Patrick!" She held out her arms for them. Spot shook his head and Jack blew his hair out of his face.

"Spot and Jack, Sister. Spot and Jack." Spot pointed to himself and to Jack. But the nun ignored the young man and ran up to them kissing each on the cheek lovingly.

"Why did you stay away so long? I thought you had abandoned us." She choked back her tears as she ran her hand over Jack's cheek and gripped Spot's hand until his fingers turned red.

"We sent cards last year Sister. You got them?" Jack frowned at her.

"Of course, but fancy writing is not the same as seeing my boys. My little lost boys." She laughed.

"Sister Cecilia where is Shandley hiding?" Spot looked around the nun expecting to see the girl hiding behind the pew mischievously.

"My boys, the child left on the orphan train to be adopted by a family in the west just last week." Sister Cecilia sighed.

"What?" Both boys gasped not expecting to ever come to their sanctuary and not find one of their angels.

"Well come then, I'll explain but pay your respects," Sister Cecilia nudged the boys towards the candles. In a sort of shell shock Jack turned to light a candle for his mother. Spot walked further down to light a candle at a different table. In the hallow silence of the church the men mumbled their prayers as they adding to flickering flames. Jack looked over to Spot and sighed pulling out the little parcel that had been hiding in his coat.

"That was where we first found the little pixie so many years ago." Jack commented. Spot laughed looking down underneath the table remembering the tiny toddler curled up in a peaceful slumber. That's when he noticed the two packages wrapped in brown paper and tied with old shoestring.

"What's this then?" Spot wondered aloud bending down to pick them up.

He picked up an oddly shaped circular package in one hand and another flat package in another hand. There were notes on each package and an envelope still lay on the floor. Jack and Sister Cecilia had moved towards Spot near the front of the church.

"You missed something." Jack crotched down and grabbed the envelope carefully.

"How very odd." Sister Cecilia stared down at the packages in Spot's hands. Spot turned them around and found two notes on each of them.

_To the boy who named himself something silly, when he was named after the very saint that drove the snakes out of Ireland. Happy Christmas, Shandley. _

Spot stared at the note.

"Did she leave these here?" He asked Sister Cecilia.

"Did who leave what?" Jack hopped up and stared down to read his own note.

_To my Santa Claus, you may not know it yet Jack Kelly but you were the reason I kept believing. Happy Christmas, Shandley. _

"When did that child do this?" Sister Cecilia looked down to where Spot had found the objects.

Jack had taken his package from Spot and just stared down at it blinking. The year he had meant to bring the girl, his very own spirit of Christmas, a gift for the first time and she had beat him too it.

"What else did you find Francis?" Sister Cecilia asked taking the little envelope.

"Proof for Francis and Patrick." Sister Cecilia read out loud. Spot had taken a seat again at one of the front pews and had started nervously tugging at the string on his present. Jack took his friend's lead and took a seat as well and frowned down at the little package.

"But she isn't here?" Jack demanded again.

"No sweet boy, she was very reluctant to leave but I worried she was getting to old to wait any longer for a good family. Father O'Reilly and I found her a good Irish Catholic couple with a little boy, looking for a girl to help." Sister Cecilia rambled for a second.

"They just wanted someone to take care of their son." Spot whispered starring at the note the girl had written him.

"Now Patrick, don't have such little faith. They would treat her as part of their family, she would get fresh air and live a life better than we could expect for her here." Sister Cecilia rubbed his shoulder lovingly. Jack didn't open his package instead he took the envelope back from Sister Cecilia.

"Proof huh?" He laughed trying to lighten the mood because despite Sister Cecilia's faith, Jack agreed with Spot about Shandley's fate. Jack ran his finger across the crease on the envelope opening the sealed card. He pulled out a little card with an illustration depicting jolly old St. Nick. Jack smiled almost hearing Shandley's voice in his ear, touting about Santa Claus.

"What's it say Jacky boy?" Spot looked over leaning his head onto Sister Cecilia's shoulder.

Jack opened the card and an old article fell into his lap. He tucked the article behind his index finger that was holding open the card.

"_You were right Jack. You did say you would visit as long as Santa Claus kept visiting me. So when you didn't come this year, I knew Santa Claus hadn't visited me because you see what I asked for every year was both of you. I want you both to know that I always knew that the toffees were from Sister Cecilia. But belief is something founded in the unseen boys, as you should both know from what you've been taught at St. Mary's for years. Every year that you both came, I knew that Santa Claus had sent me my gift for the year. Because though you two never learned to behave, I always did so that I would get what I asked for my oldest friends. And of course the great Jack Kelly and mighty Spot Conlon would pick the year that I, Shandley Callaghan, had finally found proof of the existence of Santa Claus. You once told me that if it was printed in a paper, that it would be true. So though I know you are World and Journal men, The Sun is still a paper. I left it for you both and maybe Santa Claus will bring us together again one day. Happy Christmas, Shandley." _The card was dated in her neat little print as December 30, 1902. The card had been written for over a year, Jack pulled out the yellowed little article and unfolded it.

"She found something in the paper that Denton worked for?" Spot asked curiously holding out his hand.

"Hold on." Jack waved away Spot's hand as he read the fine print of the little paper.

Dear Editor, I am 8 years old. Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus. Papa says, "If you see it in The Sun, it's so." Please tell me the truth, is there a Santa Claus?  
Jack started laughing. The girl with the strongest belief in Santa Claus he had ever meet had finally found her proof in an editorial written for the Sun. Shaking his head he read the words about Santa Claus being like love, generosity and devotion. Jack found himself thinking about the older gentlemen that had given him the plush toy that he still had in his jacket. Generosity, the older gentlemen had told him to spread Christmas cheer.  
"Let me see it!" Spot held out his hand for the article until Jack handed it over. Sister Cecilia and Spot read the article together, their heads bent over the little piece of yellowing paper.  
"Fairies," Spot snorted at the idea. But Jack knew that even Spot Conlon understood the meaning of the article.

"I wonder when she had the time to do this." Sister Cecilia mumbled. "Or when she snuck the things under there."

Father O'Reilly had re-entered the church and smiled at the picture in the corner of his church. The blond young man warmly leaning his head into the black material of Sister Cecilia's habitat. While her old hand held Jack's rough hand forever covered in ink stains. Family meant whatever you wanted it to, Father O'Reilly had learned that in this industrious city full of lonely strangers trying to make ends meet family was who was there for you when things got tough.

"Come, come my friends we shouldn't stay inside the church. God wants us to celebrate in our own places." Father O'Reilly clapped his hands together snapping them out of their reverie.

"Father did you know anything about this?" Sister Cecilia studied the priest's happy eyes suspiciously.

"The little dear might have told me something about it. But come Sister, we want to know about what our young men have been doing with their lives. Maybe over some tea?" The priest motioned towards the door.

"But without Shandley?" Spot said folding up the paper again and handing it to Jack.

"She would not want us to mar the evening, her favorite of the year, with sadness." The priest laughed at the boys and Jack nodded giving himself a little cross before walking onto towards the door of the church, Spot not far behind. Stepping out into the night, snowflakes started falling from the dark sky. The families had scattered and no one was left in front of the little old church.

She was running down the dark alley, she had fallen asleep and missed the only mass that meant anything to her. She came around the corner slightly slipping on the new ice, but just throwing out her arms to balance herself as she skipped up the stone steps. The light flooded onto the steps and she closed her eyes and stepped into the spotlight.

Jack was looking down at his shoes patting the card that was sitting in his pocket. Taking a deep breath he smelled the crisp air of winter and an oddly strong scent of peppermint and holly that made him look up. A winter angel stood in the door, a glowing girl with perfectly formed curls falling onto her shoulders. Jack blinked as he stared at the figure in the doorway, thin and in a pretty faded green dress. Then her eyes fluttered opened and a pair of evergreen eyes sparkled with frozen tears and before anything was said the girl had wrapped her frozen arms around his neck.

"Shandley?" Jack asked confused. Spot stood shocked as the girl threw her cold arm around his neck and pulled him into their hug.

"Shandley Callaghan! Great angels in the heavens child, I put you on a train last week." Sister Cecilia's hand had come up to her mouth in shock. Father O'Reilly was just laughing joyfully.

"It's the first terribly naughty thing I've ever done in my entirely life and all because of both of you." Shandley cried in Spot's shoulder.

"What exactly did you do?" Jack pulled her arms off from behind his neck. Jack was pulling off his coat and Spot taking his cue pulled off his own scarf. The boys started dressing the now tall Shandley in their own clothing trying to warm the young lady back up.

"I, well, I just couldn't leave so close to Christmas. I just knew you would come this year. I couldn't go where there was no snow, and no St. Mary's and no…" Shandley's teeth were chattering and Spot frowned as he started to rub his hand up and down her arm trying to warm her up.

"What did you do?" Spot demanded.

"I remembered the story, the one you once told me." Shandley looked hopefully at Spot.

"Which one?" Spot's eyes squinted in suspicious. If there was anything that Spot Conlon was use to it was trouble and he could sense that Shandley was building up her courage to a confession.

"The one about birds telling you a story. I knew that you might have had one watching me, it seemed such a likely idea. So after Sister Cecilia left me on the train, I waited until she left the station and I got off the train. And I wandered out onto the streets for the first time in my entire life alone." Shandley wasn't looking at anyone anymore.

"You've been wandering around the city completely by yourself for the last week? Have you any idea how dangerous that was?" Jack's voice had taken on the lecturing tone that had been reserved for his newsies.

"I did get help from a helpful young man, I suspect he was one of your birds Spot. Though he never betrayed the secret, he took me to the Brooklyn Lodging House. I stayed there until tonight, your boys kept me safe. I fell asleep tonight and missed mass." Shandley buried her head in Jack's shoulder as her hand clutched Spot's.

"Why Shandley Callaghan. I would never," Sister Cecilia started but Jack held up a hand to stop her.

"It seems to me you've been saving up all your naughty for this one week." Jack joked petted the girl's white hair.

"I thought he might not bring you." Shandley cried into his shoulder.

"What are we going to do with you?" Spot sighed.

"And you're family that is expecting you, how could you do this?" Sister Cecilia sighed pulling the girl's face out of Jack's shoulder. The image reminded her of many winter eves ago, but this time her little Francis was the protector.

"I sent them a note with one of the other orphans that was going to same town. Letting them know I would be arriving late, and to forgive me the unexpected trouble." Shandley bit her bottom lip trying to keep from crying again.

"This is the strangest feeling Jack." Spot smiled.

"What feeling is that Spot?" Jack played along.

"We've never been the well behaved children," Spot laughed. Shandley looked miserable for a second before starting to giggle.

"Don't tease the child." Sister Cecilia pointed her finger at the boys seriously and looked serious.

"Well there wasn't much harm done, one more Christmas was deserved by these young people. Go along and celebrate each other, I must sleep before the dawn service. Good night dear people, God has sent you a very merry Christmas indeed." Father O'Reilly laughed to himself as he scurried to his quarters. Sister Cecilia still amazed at the happenings of the early morning opened the door to the orphanage's kitchen. As the young people sat down at the table, Sister Cecilia started warming up some tea.

Spot pulled out the three toffee pieces from his pocket and held them out chuckling to himself.

"Seeing as Santa Claus wasn't going to see such a naughty child as yourself, I got us some toffee." Shandley picked up her piece and smiled brightly.

"You haven't opened your gifts!" Shandley cried as she noticed the still sealed packages in the young men's hands.

"What were you doing getting us gifts anyway Shandley, spending money on us…" Jack started but the imploring green eyes made him sigh as he started to open his package.

Jack found a little paper copy of a western penny novel, the type he carried around with him the entire year of the Newsies strike. He smiled laughing at the cowboy on the cover, who looked strangely like himself. While Spot opened the package to find a little wooden top, Shandley was staring at him intently.

"Its like the one you played with the Christmas that I turned four. I don't know why I remembered it so much, but it felt like something special to get you." Shandley looked at him expectedly.

"Of course, a happy Christmas indeed." Spot dashing took up her delicate hand and kissed it lightly in thanks. Jack did the same thing with the girl's other hand and then wiped out a package from his jacket.

"Presents coming out from everywhere tonight." Sister Cecilia laughed.

"We didn't bring you anything sister…" Spot tapped at the table.

"Oh darling boy, I've received the great gift of my children here with me. Even if their means of arriving were questionable." Sister Cecilia said pointedly as she poured tea their tea and handed them each a cup.

"Well go on then," Jack nudged Shandley in the shoulder. The girl clapped her hands and opened the package revealing a little dark brown teddy bear.

"Oh," Shandley gasped as she ran her fingers over the bear adoringly. Two of her fingers stopped at the button eyes and she laughed.

"Why Jack Kelly, what a clever way to make sure I never forget you." She cried pulling the bear into her.

"What?" Jack scratched his head.

"The bear's eyes silly." Shandley stated turning the bear out so that everyone could see the button eyes. One button was a brilliant blue and the other button was a warm coffee brown.

"Well done Jack." Spot nodded in approval of the bear's little trick.

"The strangest thing…" Jack started to tell the story of how he had come by the bear with the shopkeeper that reminded him of the same fellow who had sent the St. Nick book years before. The little group spent hours talking, well into the hours of dawn and watched the sunlight stream into the windows of the little kitchen. Shandley had fallen asleep in the same place she always managed, with her head resting lightly on Jack and her hands clutching not only Spot's hand this time but also her bear.

"Thank you Santa," Shandley squeezed Jack's hand. "And Claus." She tightened her grip on Spot's.

"Are you calling us your Santa Claus again?" Spot whispered to her.

"You're my Claus." The girl yawned.

"What?" Spot laughed softly.

"You're my Claus. Jack's my Santa." She smiled nestling her head more comfortably into Jack's chest.

"I told you she's always liked you better." Spot tried to pull his hand away from her.

"No. Silly. It's because you're the Conlon and he's the Sullivan." She yawned again before falling asleep completely. It was the last time that Shandley Callaghan spent her Christmas Eve in the loving company of Jack Kelly and Spot Conlon. But it was the perfect Christmas moment. She had proved the existence of Santa Claus not only to the skeptical legendry street boys but also reinforced her own faith forever. She would tell this story every Christmas Eve, to her children and to her grandchildren until it became nothing but a story forgotten to be truth.

~Merry Christmas to All, And to all a good night.~

The End


End file.
